The Cruel Quarter Moon
by Jane Keybored
Summary: "Is it really that bad?" came Zuko's quiet voice. "It's not always like this," Katara said tightly. "But yes. It's bad." Oneshot.


I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender

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><p>Katara opened her eyes. She lay on her side on the plush mattress, deep night telling her that it was too early to be awake. A harsh ache settled into her consciousness, hovering heavily over her abdomen. Katara pinched her eyes shut, dreading what was coming. She curled tighter into herself, trying to ignore the pain that had awakened her and hoping that the warm numbness of sleep would come again soon. Instead, the pain intensified, reaching agonizing fingers around to her lower back. Katara groaned audibly, shifting in the soft bed-but no matter the comforts of the location or positions that she lay, the pain wouldn't ease. She stayed in bed, putting off the inevitable as long as possible, but the pain was only getting worse. Her heart began palpitating, she quickened her breath to a pant as the ache engulfed her consciousness. Katara pushed herself upright in the bed, and feeling the clammy sweat settling on her skin, drug herself from the bed and staggered toward the bathroom.<p>

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><p>Zuko was a light sleeper; even in the unconsciousness of sleep he could be ready to engage in a moment's notice. He roused to the patter of footfalls on the hardwood floor of the hallway, but buried his head back into his pillow after a cursory remembrance of reality. He was sharing his family's house on Ember Island with the Avatar and gang, and between 5 guests it was not uncommon for one of them to need a restroom break in the middle of the night. With the plausible threat dismissed, Zuko was nearly back into the light grasp of sleep when his eyes flew open at an uncomfortable noise.<p>

He sat up, hearing a quietly pained moan before the uneasy sound of retching reached his ears again. He crept cautiously to the bathroom and he stared at the door. It was closed, but not shut, and a hushed wail wafted from the gap of the entrance. The perpetrator was definitely female. Should he investigate? Either Suki, Katara, or Toph was inside, undoubtedly in a lot of pain and alone. He was up anyway, he couldn't go back to sleep now knowing that one of them was unwell and by herself. He knocked lightly, tapping the door open warily.

"Katara?" he said quietly, recognizing the wounded heap. She sat on her knees in front of the bowl, rocking ever so slightly, holding a shaking hand to her head, the other across her stomach.

"Uhn."

"Are you okay?" he asked stupidly. Her face was pale and damp, and loose hairs to stuck to her forehead.

"Fine." Her reply was short, and she waved him away weakly.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Go away," she whispered.

Zuko hesitated, unsure if he should take her command to heart. Suddenly she lurched forward, placing her hands on the floor in front of her, and rocked a moment on all fours.

"Katara-!" he was at her side, undecided on what he should do.

Her breath was short, barely reaching her lungs before being pushed away. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

Zuko watched her with confusion and worry. They'd only returned from confronting Yon Rah a few days earlier, and Zuko felt that they'd grown close enough that he could read her. He'd watched her morph from seething to numb against her enemy, becoming so devoid of emotions that she could watch a man die, or not; it didn't matter. He'd witnessed her at her most terrifying as she manipulated the bodies of her opposers to gain her retribution. He'd seen a side of her that even her friends hadn't seen. They hadn't seen _this_ side of her, either; the caretaker of the group in so much pain that she struggled for breath, her beautiful brown skin ashen, her strength reduced to shaking fingers.

No, Katara was quite sick, and he couldn't leave her alone. She needed someone right now. She needed someone who already knew her dark side, who would better understand her pained side.

Katara seemed to sense his resolution, and Zuko was encouraged in the normalcy of annoyance that crossed her features. She took a shallow, shaky breath.

"Tea," she grunted.

Tea. Zuko could do that. He retreated from the bathroom and quickly made his way to the kitchen. As soon as the water was on the stove, he searched the cabinets for stores of tea. Should he use ginger for an upset stomach? Or soothing chamomile? He wished he had something more to go on -some instruction from her other than her apparent pain and barfing- as to what type of tea would make her most comforted.

In the quiet of the kitchen, he calmed. She was fine. A cup of tea would make her fit as flame and they'd both be back to bed. Zuko leaned against the counter, staring into space. It was strange to see the strong and stubborn Katara reduced to her hands and knees in the bathroom. She did look pretty ill... He wondered with alarm if it was some sort of stomach bug, or if something they'd eaten had been undercooked, and Katara was the first one to show symptoms. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before they all were puking their guts out and writhing painfully on the floor, vying for the bathroom.

The kettle bubbled. Zuko poured the hot water into a teapot and looked at the choices of tea once more. He decided on chamomile with the assumption that she had nothing left to vomit and the herb would relax her.

The minutes went by and the tea steeped. When she didn't emerge, Zuko set the tea things on a tray and padded quietly to her room. She was there, curled in her bed, quite still.

"Katara?" he whispered. "I brought the tea..."

She made a small noise of acknowledgement and scooted carefully to sitting position. He moved into the room and sat at the end of her bed, balancing the tray in the soft comforter.

"Thanks," she mumbled, taking a cup from Zuko.

"Was it something you ate?"

"No, it's nothing."

"Katara," Zuko admonished. "It's not nothing. What if its contagious? We can't risk Aang getting sick with the comet only a couple weeks away."

"It's not a bug. It's normal," she said grumpily, shifting away from him. Her body seized up again, and she clutched her stomach, stifling a groan.

"This is not normal."

"No," she grunted. "Some months are worse than others." Under normal circumstances, Katara would be mortified to talk to Zuko, of all people, about her cycle, but her embarrassment was nothing to the pain. He wanted so badly to help, after all; it was his own fault. She nearly laughed when she saw the understanding dawn on his face, but she didn't have the energy.

The conversation died.

Katara gulped her hot tea, the liquid sliding into her stomach and coating her aches with warmth. The tea was helping, a little, but not enough to bear the pain. Spirits, sometimes Katara hated being a woman. As the month would ware on, she would forget how absolutely excrutiating this could be, remembering only that 'it hurt', not the way it actually _felt_. She wondered how women had been dealing with this for the past centuries - each month being punished for the godlike ability to create life. She finished her tea and cradled the warm cup against her abdomen, pressing the relieving warmth into her shedding womb.

"Is it really that bad?" came Zuko's quiet voice.

"It's not always like this," Katara said tightly. "But yes. It's bad."

He looked curiously at her teacup. "Does that help? The heat?"

She nodded, wondering when 'twenty questions' was going to end. She knew his absence wouldn't make her feel any better or worse, but with him gone she could at least quit hiding her reaction to the agony.

Zuko scooted toward her gingerly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He nudged the cooling teacup away and rested his heated palm on her stomach.

"How's that?" he asked hopefully, but Katara's eyes were already drooping with solace.

She nodded and replied, "that's nice." She moaned softly again, but this time it was a sound of relief.

Katara grasped Zuko's hand and tucked it under the waist of her pajamas, positioning it just so on the bare skin of her belly. She held his hand in place as she curled back into bed, leading him to lay beside her. Zuko's hand sat so low against her pelvis that he could feel the wiry wisps pubic hair with his pinky, but the reverence of Katara's placement kept him from adjusting it. Instead he concentrated on the warmth filling his hand, thinking consciously about Katara's wellbeing, as if his thoughts alone could soothe her.

Katara shifted, turning over so she faced him in the bed, and guiding his arm to stay outstretched, his hand now positioned on her lower back.

"I'm sorry," she sighed meekly. "It's selfish of me to keep you from bed, but I just can't bring myself to let go of your hand."

"Don't be. I'm glad I could help. You seemed really sick." With a breath, Zuko raised his body temperature marginally, attempting to bring Katara more relief.

"It sucks," she replied, holding her breath. "But every woman experiences it, so I can't complain." Katara exhaled softly, as if afraid for any sudden or harsh movements. She rolled carefully to her back, settling Zuko's hand on her stomach again.

Zuko slipped his other hand under Katara's back, sandwiching her middle between his palms.

"I had no idea it was so painful. I mean, you were throwing up." Zuko thought about his lack of knowledge in the female department. Azula was really the only girl he'd been around, but he wasn't even sure if she'd begun her cycle when he'd been banished. Something told him he had a lot more sympathy for Katara's state than he would have for his sister in the same situation.

He observed her from his sideways position, able to stare at her openly. Should she open her eyes, she would be staring at the ceiling, but she seemed especially tired. He felt her the muscles in her back slacken and her breathing ease. The rise and fall of her respiration was slow and deep between his hands. Zuko tried to ignore the bit of pride that was welling in his core that he was able to bring so much relief. It seemed that his firebending was a healing art after all, strong enough to alleviate the pain of a waterbender.

"Thank you," she hummed after a moment.

As Katara eased into sleep, Zuko wondered idly who's child would grow in her womb in the future. Katara would be a great mother, judging on how well she took care of the gang. As long as they defeated Ozai before the comet, Katara would get that chance. Zuko strengthened his resolve to bring down his father and sister. He was determined to see the day when Katara become a mother, determined to see her children grow up in safe world. He suddenly felt very protective of the normally strong Katara and her feminine pain.

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><p>It was late morning before Katara awoke again. The sun left a haze of over-warm air settled in her bedroom. She recognized the familiar sounds of Toph's teasing banter and Sokka's shrill, justifying tones, but noted that no one was bothering her about getting up to cook. She opened her eyes fully, craning her neck in concentration, realizing now the lateness of the hour and wondering why no on had woken her to prepare breakfast. In fact, she could smell the sweet scent of teriyaki and the heavy odor of steamed rice invading the house, which could only mean that Zuko was already preparing lunch.<p>

She rested her head back into the pillow. Zuko must've convinced everyone to leave her be this morning.

Katara pointed her toes, clenching her thighs and buttocks in an elongating stretch before relaxing again. Her bed was so warm, _unusually_ warm, and she registered now that the awful pain that'd gripped her last night was gone. Reaching down under the covers, she found a bag of dry rice tied in a small sack bundled against her side. The rice bag was cozy, as if it had been heated and had been emanating warmth for some time. She laid the bag over her stomach, enjoying its comforting temperature. It was almost like the hand of a firebender.


End file.
